Requiem
by abhorrent
Summary: Formerly "Lacrimosa," A brief farewell from B to L, written from master to pet. A short response, triggered by hopeless despair. Rated M for Beyond being Beyond.
1. Lacrimosa

**_EDIT: __This story was originally intended to be a one-shot, but I sort of, somehow, wrote a sequel to it. I'm going to do some slight editing to this chapter, but it's not going to be anything major. If there's any other errors I didn't catch, I just hope that you can read on to the next chapter, which is what I intend for you to critique. This chapter is like 2, 3 years old. So, yeah, I'm not a great editor, I'm just a producer. _**

_**Same creative licenses apply as the last time, with the taking liberty in ages, events, etc. Also there's a lot of graphic language. I don't intend for this to be canon, hence why it's a fan fiction. So, enjoy.**_

* * *

"_Lacrimosa dies illa  
Qua resurget ex favilla  
Judicandus homo reus.  
Huic ergo parce, Deus:  
Pie Jesu Domine,  
Dona eis requiem. Amen."_

* * *

I have reason to believe that I have not truly cried since I was the tender age of seven; it was on the day of February the thirteenth, the year of Our Lord 1990. That day would prologue a series of most unfortunate events that would lead to the making of the man I claim to be today: my mother was to die in a gruesome train wreck.

It was not as though I had not seen it coming; hell, death and demise are some of the few things that cannot surprise me—I see it before it happens.

Which is why it was almost preternatural that I kill; I reckon myself a sort of harbinger, the omen that you do not want showing up at your doorstep.

I can do that to people. I can make them fear me, loathe me with every fiber of their being; but I can also make them obsessed and repulsed, to the point of morbid fascination.

I'm an amorphous, androgynous figure with no distinct facial pattern. I am the face-stealer of the old lore, I am able to shift and mutate my face into any one I deem useful. It has been so long since I have been myself, that I fear that there is nothing left of me.

But there is nothing to complain about, for I have taken the shape of the most prominent figure in all of modern society. He has become the brunt of all my extensive research, my (quite literal) back-breaking postural techniques. This creature I lust after is the most disgustingly angelic person that I have ever laid eyes on.

And I was quite fortunate to have been able to do so.

L Lawliet, how your numbers twinkle in the eerie, foggy crimson haze, repeatedly changing with every course of action you take. You are one of the few people with such spasmodic death dates. One moment you have twenty years on you, the next a month. It has utterly captivated me.

Though, I cannot be blamed for my morbid fascination. You are the one that made yourself so _utterly interesting_. I can cackle at the very idea of your eccentricities—you make it very hard to be copied, my pet. It had never been that hard to steal another's identity before I laid my eyes on you.

And I'll never forget the looks bestowed upon my person by you, my superior, though only by two years. The look of pure, unadulterated abhorrence whenever I graced you with my presence; the look of shock when I'd slither out from under your bed; the quiet gasp when I moved just a little _too_ close for comfort.

Might I, perchance, be the only one who can make you squirm, make you feel _oh-so_ uncomfortable in your own body?

I thought you would enjoy my admiration, _Lawliet_, but it seems that I was wrong. Whenever I touched your smooth, petal-soft and divine skin, I saw that look of repulsion pass through those dilated pupils. It's only going to be considered masturbation, my love, how terrible is it to _fuck yourself?_

And, for the record, I'm the only person in the known universe that can read every waking thought that passes through that brilliant mind. It took many years of devout watching to be able to do that, and I can proudly say that it has been accomplished by _moi._

While I'm still _oh-so_ proud of it, my love, it does not stop me from wanting to crush your skull. I lust for your _blood_, Lawliet, I want it splattered all over the posh, creamy carpets of that vile housing facility. I want to gut you, eat your entrails and trophy your writhing, stubborn heart on a scepter. I want to hang your brilliant brain by its _medulla oblongata_, use it like a mistletoe. Maybe it could then be put to some good use, eh, Lawliet?

Do you understand this innate, primitive need? I want to peel away your skin, layer by layer, digging though the dermis, puncturing your smooth muscle. I want the rip your tendons from their fatty layers, suck on them like egg noodles, and _scream_ in delight from your moans of pain. This desire is non-stopping, and even _I_ fear for your safety, my pet.

But, please do realize that I had meant no harm in the beginning. I can entirely blame you for your wrongdoing. Making Quillsh and Roger place you on a pedestal, make you an object of our soul obsession.

And, never once did I find it odd that I was the only one to take this obsession to a _psychical_ level. I could see it in Mello's eyes once, but it faded away with friendship. You were lucky to have found that Jeevas boy, L, for yet another protégé could have ended up like myself.

Maybe that was the key to sanity: Friendship. I was unlucky enough to have a best friend who hung himself silently beside me as I slept, leaving a note imprinted on his wrist that read "_I quit._"

A was your first shortcoming, was he not? I could see it in the way you deterred from Wammy's for the six months following his death, and how you refused to look me in the eye the moment you returned.

Sometimes, _L_, I wonder if you're as smart as people make you out to be.

Me, a young child whose best friend had committed suicide _in your name and in my face_, being so carelessly tossed to the side by the one object that faceted my sole obsession, my livelihood. I know you've studied into psychology, so you know the side effects of continuous neglect. Pretty stupid and inane for a genius.

But, then again, I was never able to stay angry at you for too long. Do you remember our visit in your chambers the following evening? The way I made you gasp and tremble, the piteous moans and cries for salvation?

"_Tearful that day on which will rise from ashes, guilty man for judgment."_

It hadn't taken you too long to understand where that had come from, the moment I whispered it into your ears. Lacrimosa, from Mozart's Requiem. The song I have set for you, thus shall it blatantly mark your end.

But I could not kill you, for it was not yet your time. I had left my presence imprinted onto your flawless, creamy skin, however. I left my mark—two large "B"s on each side of your hip, carved and cauterized by yours truly.

And, truly, the pleas for release were enough to end me off the edge, and I wanted nothing more than to lick the blood from your skin, if only to spit it in your face and gloat as I had officially made you _mine_.

And while I may have left that day, leaving you with a blank look and a single, trembling tear, that lust had never dissipated.

So I transformed it, in a metaphor to myself. I transcended this lustful desire into a game of cat and mouse, knowing that the intricate details of my crime would have you running to solve it. The innate desire you possess to solve the unsolvable.

And I knew that you knew, and I had so hoped that you would show up _personally_.

But, you left me with that wench, though I must give credit where credit is due.

You have not won yet, Lawliet. I know you far too well. I shall remain imprinted onto your psyche, the fly that shall buzz and tick away at your conscience day after day until you can no longer think clearly. You will feel compelled to look over your shoulder at the slightest movement; whenever someone lays a hand upon your person in any intimate gesture, you shall be reminded of _me_, my body colliding with yours in an entirely dominating position.

And lastly, I shall remind you of your failures, and how even the Greatest Detective in the World is fallable.

Do keep in mind, my pet, that even if my body shall perish from the Earth, my presence is everlong. And know that, even if I could never see my time of death, I never said that I could not _feel it_.

Yes, Lawliet, I am to die, it comes of no surprise, your newest _case_ shall discover my name sooner or later. But, before I go, I just want you to know that-

* * *

_At that exact moment, the pen froze in Beyond Birthday's charred hand, the ink creating a thick, dark line down the otherwise pristine white paper. The prisoner felt himself keeling over, and he threw his head back in true, righteous laughter._

"_So this is what it's like to die!" He gave one last wheeze and collapsed to the floor, soundless and unmoving._

_He was found within moments of his demise, and his letter was sent to his capturer, L, who had been adamant in his refusal to read it in the presence of any human being. His team had been quite irate by his action, and L had to repeatedly assure them that this was an entirely deviated matter that had nothing to do with their "Kira."_

_But that night, alone in his own solitary confinement, the brilliant man read the letter, word-for-word, backwards to forwards, actively and passively. He felt as though he could hear his doppelganger writing him this unintentional farewell, cackling and crooning with delight. It sent a shiver up his spine._

"_May you, for once, be in peace, B." L turned his head away and placed the letter on his bedpost, curling reflexively upon himself in a meditative state. He dwelt alone in his thoughts, piecing together memories of Beyond in a sort of requiem for the man's quietus, all the while unconsciously tracing the thick, jarring scars that adorned his hips._

_That night, if anyone had bothered to check up on the man, they would have heard the faint, ghost-like chants of the chorus as Mozart's "Lacrimosa" played on a repetitive note, and the silent prayer for the departed._

* * *

"_Tearful that day,  
on which will rise from ashes  
guilty man for judgment.  
So have mercy, O God, on this person.  
Compassionate Lord Jesus,  
grant them rest. Amen."_

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_**Please take the time to leave a review, but even if you can't, please check out the next chapter~**_


	2. Confutatis

_Don't mind me if this doesn't make sense, I'm trying to get into the mindset of a serial killer and his prey._

_This was originally meant to be a separate fanfiction from its predecessor, however, I cannot control what happens in my brain. Hence, this became a little sequel to "Lacrimosa," which is fitting because it pertains to the same requiem. Holla._

* * *

"_Confutatis Maledictis,_

_Flammis Acribus Addictis,_

_Voca Me, Voca Me Cum Benedictis."_

* * *

In all of my years that I had accumulated "getting to know you," I always found it interesting that you never once would mention any of the positive facets of our relationship. It wasn't as though we were necessarily in a "relationship," you have always been impossibly insane; but, to you, I meant something more than some sort of fresh slab of meat on a butcher's stand.

Now, I'm not going to go out on a whim and say that I am an embodiment of empathic behavior—if anything, I am the polar opposite. What I am going to say, however, is that I am a human being capable of understanding, no matter how far-fetched that may seem.

Indeed, the great detective L is capable of such reproachful emotions such as understanding, and, at times, compassion. While I never act upon such petty thoughts, they do cross my mind.

And, I must say, if you did anything useful in your life, it was to help me understand that I am not a robot. No, I'm not, and I understand that now. And, I also have come to an understanding that I cannot mold others into an embodiment of my own crassness and indifference. I've failed with you, Beyond, and I failed with Able. You never knew it, but you two were the greatest mistakes I have ever made. And, for what it's worth, I apologize.

I have never apologized and asked for forgiveness so much as I had when I had let you two down. For what it's worth, I even prayed and prostrated myself in the hopes of achieving some sort of beneficial reaction, yet all I found myself with was more despair. I just wished you understood that what I did was all in the sake of preservation. That sounds cold, inhumane—but it's the truth. And if there is one thing you deserve, it's the truth, and no deviation of the sorts.

When A passed, mournfully so, I saw something shatter inside of you, Beyond. Your eyes were colder, more distant than they had been when you arrived at the orphanage. You were dead, indifferent. Yet, it was a stark difference to what I felt necessary in a pupil and prospective successor. You were gone long before you even knew it.

Do you remember, Beyond, our private lessons in Latin? You would beg me, plead incessantly, that we listen to Mozart. He was your favorite, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and you could never go but one day without listening to his symphonies. I remember, and I hope you do as well. I remember how your eyes would shine with wonderment at the idea that one man could produce works that elicited such a heart-wrenching response from his audience.

But, with these positive memories trail even more twisted ones. It pains me to remember, Beyond, and I hope you understand this. Knowing I can never save everyone, it pains me more than any blemish you could have brought upon me.

"_Oro supplex et acclinis_," and I meant it Beyond, "_Cor contritum quasi cinis, gere curam."_

I meant it that night, while you were so boastfully chanting a man's requiem as though it were a mantra, and I mean it now. While you took pride over my downtrodden body, leaving me in tears and pleading for my own mental stability, I was praying for myself, and I was praying mostly for you.

Now, in no way am I religious, I just feel as though, in times of need, I need something intangible to call out to, and a god is the only reasonable ominous presence I can think of in a pinch. But, that is another tangent for another time.

Yes, Beyond, I care. I cared enough to push myself away from you. It wasn't disgust, nor was it fear; it was, instead, concern. You didn't seem to take into consideration the fact that you were too far detached from reality, and looking at you brought painstaking grief upon myself.

And when I begged for mercy, it wasn't for you to stop. I know this makes me seem masochistic, but the pain you brought upon my body was fair. I'm glad we could agree upon something, B, and I understand what had to be done. No, while you tore hair from my scalp and made many attempts to gouge my eyes from their sockets, I begged for mercy on your soul. I had hoped that, by bringing harm upon my body, you would never bring any harm upon yours.

I was wrong about you, again, obviously, as you had succeeded in bathing yourself in a pool of flames, nearly ending your life. You were both parts beautiful and agonizing, awash in something so magnificent yet so utterly painful. And, I know you hate Misora for doing this, but it was my own selfish needs that kept you alive that day. I need you alive, Beyond, if only to validate my own sick and twisted mindset.

No one can understand the complexity of our relationship. I shudder to think what any other person would think if they had even an inkling into the twisted and horrific details of this so-called "relationship." I believe that I would be stripped of my position before I could even blink, that is how macabre and toxic we are.

You understood that, too, didn't you?

You knew we could never have been partners, especially in a relationship. We never were anything, Beyond, and that's the one thing that had bothered you the most, wasn't it? You could never have total control.

Well, I'd apologize, but for once I don't feel the need to. You were a sick boy and an even sicker man. You killed without any regard for human compassion. Those people had lives, Beyond; they had families, and children, and friends. You didn't even know who these people were! Yet, you are steadfast in your beliefs that all of this was justified..

You did it to catch my attention? That's hardly the kind of answer I had wanted to receive. Do you understand the longevity of my grief, Beyond Birthday? Do you understand the innumerable times I have beat my head against a wall, concussing myself in supplication to the gods that I be forgiven for creating such a destructive and unflinching beast? Do you understand the tears I have cried, holed up in a dark room with nary a computer screen to light the place? My soul aches for you, Beyond, it aches for you to find peace within yourself.

I'd never want to admit it, but you were correct in one thing: you had triumphed over me. You do gnaw at my conscious, insomuch as to render me speechless at times. The mere thought of you makes my blood itch with the overwhelming desire to bring harm upon myself. Whenever a thought of you passes through my mind, I feel the need to make myself feel again. I don't know what happened to me, but thanks to you I know I can never feel at peace again. No candy or treat could ever satiate the bitter taste on my tongue.

So, Beyond, this is the plan you had set out for me. Not only do I feel responsible for A, I feel responsible for those victims you so carelessly made a game out of. This doesn't please me at all, you bastard, and I hope you know that I want to die.

You know it, don't you? That's why you laugh and screech my name from those padded walls, head lolling around in a drug-induced hysteria. Whenever you eye the camera within the cell, you know you're staring at me, aren't you? Whenever you nod your head towards the camera and mouth words that I can hardly decipher, you're telling me to do it, aren't you?

Well, I can't, because I'm never going to be strong enough. So, instead, I fight for those who also aren't strong enough. I just hoped that I would be the first to pass instead of you, so maybe I could have been the one you called upon in your time of need.

But, you had to triumph over me again, didn't you? You had to expire before my haggard frame passed on. This excuse for a body still lives, thank you very much. Why couldn't you give me the satisfaction of dying first? I understood you, now why must you always refuse to understand me?

I've thrown myself into a piteous depression, and it's taking its toll on my current case. The Yagami boy notices, yet keeps himself respectfully distant. I told him it has to do with the roadblock we have hit in the case, but we both know that is not why.

I want to smash this computer over my head and use the broken shards of plastic to tear away at my skin. I want to pluck all of my arteries as though they were guitar strings, and listen to them snap when I exert too much pressure on them. I want to laugh in satisfaction as the entire force would watch in horror as I maimed myself with the skill and precision of a surgeon. I want my blood to coat the walls, and I want to tear my own eyes out so I can be a firsthand witness to my own demise. I would laugh, Beyond, like you had laughed that day you marred my skin with your initials.

I feel that only then would I find peace.

We know that will never happen, so instead I shall write these letters until I die. Think of it as my own kind of requiem, in a metaphor to your favorite composer. Think of yourself as my angel, up there, beautiful, like the harbinger you are, ready to pass judgment upon such a piteous soul as my own. I've heard the mournful bells, tolling quietly in my ear. It's a secret that I've only shared with myself, and I think it's appropriate you hear the bells of my demise. Like a harbinger bell, tolling me in a reminder that my end is near. It frightens me almost as much as it excites me.

"_Gere curam mei finis."_ Beyond Birthday, help me in my final hour, if you find it in your heart to do so. I have always dedicated this composition to you, and I always will.

Just, please, save me.

* * *

_Not exactly what I was asking for when I started this, but I think it turned out all right. Now, some translations:_

"_confutatis maledictis flammis accribus addictis" loosely translates as "when the accused are confounded and doomed to the flames of woe"_

"_voca me cum benedictis" translates to "call me among the blessed"_

"_oro supplex et acclinis" translated into "bowed down in supplication I beg you"_

_and "cor contritum quasi cinis, gere curam" translates to "my heart as though ground to ashes, help me"_

_oh, and "gere curam mei finis" is "help me in my final hour"_

_Well, what do you think? Ha-ha, reviews?_


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